


the death rattle known as pining after the bane of your existence (who also has a girlfriend): the anthology

by reddisk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence, Friendly competition, Multi, Not so friendly competition, sixth year, temporary love triangle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 04:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9218627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reddisk/pseuds/reddisk
Summary: also known as "if malfoy had a diary he would do nothing but draw pictures of harry potter getting eaten by alligators, then kiss them".





	1. ginny has a good face, malfoy has a good comeback, and they all have a jolly good time on the quidditch field

“I really do feel,” Ginny began, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, “that we should allow dogs to vote.”

“Ah,” said Harry. “I see.”

“They’re trustworthy animals, virtuous to the nth. Have you ever _met_ a dog, Harry?”

“Several.”

“That’s the ticket.” She blew another strand of hair out of her mouth and laid down flat against the floor.

“Have you considered cutting your hair?” Harry asked, pushing a socked foot against her stomach with restraint.

“Never.”

“You might end up eating less of it, I imagine.”

She offered a faux huff of exasperation. Her face was angelic, it really was. Harry could stare at her until sundown. The first thing he’d tend to notice about a Weasley was their shock of fluorescent ginger hair, but upon further inspection, Ginny had this inane and unconventional beauty about her that rocked his socks off. Apparently, his staring was conspicuous enough to garner her attention, because she folded her arms behind her head and met his gaze with relish.

“Now, you’ll sign my petition?” she asked.

“Petition?” Harry responded, startled out of his stupor.

“The _dogs,_ Harry, keep it together.”

* * *

“There he goes again.” Hermione held her chin in her hands with a tired sort of acceptance. Ron, who was seated to her left, subconsciously mimicked her behavior.

“Yeah,” he replied, and his eyebrows knit together. “I don’t suppose you’ll let me talk to Harry about it?”

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to get between Harry and Ginny, of course.”

“It's not like it would interfere. I don’t care if Harry’s the biggest poof in Ireland, he’s got enough sense not to kiss the local slime, don’t you think?”

She was only paying half a mind to his statement, as Malfoy’s voice cut across their conversation (and the entirety of the greenhouse).

“You should reserve a bed in the infirmary now, Potter, the next quidditch match is just around the bend,” he called, wiggling gloved fingers as his Fanged Geranium put up a fight. Crabbe and Goyle were too busy beating back their own flowers to laugh. Harry, however, swiveled around to face Malfoy the very moment he heard his name.

“You’re very confident considering last game’s embarrassment,” he remarked. During the last game between Slytherin and Gryffindor, Malfoy had pathetically fumbled the snitch, allowing Harry to swoop in and secure a Gryffindor victory.

Going a shade of pink, Malfoy pushed his Geranium aside and leaned across the table, pleased to have Harry’s attention at the very least. “If we’re going to talk about _embarrassments,_ I’d like to discuss that rats’ nest on your head. Hairbrushes haven’t gone out of style.”

“Rat-faces know plenty about rats, I’d assume.”

“And Potters know plenty about breeding runts, and Weasleys know plenty about breeding in general,” Malfoy sneered. Ron sucked in a breath and Harry got to his feet just as Professor Sprout turned towards the class.

“Watch it!” She bumped her hip against Harry’s in her bustle to get to Dean’s Geranium, which was foaming at the mouth, and so he reluctantly sat back down. Malfoy made a face from across the room.

“He certainly isn’t subtle,” Hermione sighed as Ron interrupted, “can you _believe_ what he just said? I’d ought to strangle him.”

* * *

Ah, quidditch season. ( _The entire year is quidditch season_ , said a voice in the back of Harry’s mind, but he told it to be quiet and enjoy itself.)

Ginny, who played chaser on the team, followed close behind. Her trainers sunk into the mud as they walked onto the pitch. Now that Harry was captain, he held the responsibility of the team, but he wasn’t particularly worried. Their latest match was by no means their first. Each of their games had been successful thus far: a landslide with Ravenclaw and Slytherin and an astonishingly close call with Hufflepuff. Harry’s father’s support hadn’t hurt, nor that of Sirius. They hadn’t gotten off his back about technique and proper stretching since he got on the team to begin with.

“So,” began Harry, still awkward with his inspirational pre-game speeches. “Our track record? Fantastic. Our competition? Pathetic, if we’re being honest with ourselves.”

He glanced at Ron. Considering the nauseous expression and green complexion, Ron was still prone to nerves, but this wasn’t news to Harry.

“Er,” he finally said, eyebrows knitting together.

“Don’t exert yourself before we get onto the field, Harry,” Ginny said concernedly, and the rest of the team fell into laughter. Harry cracked a good-natured smile.

“Right. You know the drill. Someone should let the kitchen elves know we’ll be celebrating tonight, yeah?

And then they were off, basking in the gaze of the entire school (or shrinking under it, in Ron’s case). Ginny bowed to the audience. Madam Hooch looked exasperated, but there was only so much she could do before the match had even started, so blew her whistle to start the game before anyone else could show off.

Old Montague had graduated, Urquhart taking his place, and Harry tried his best not to look as though their handshake crushed the bones in his pinkie finger. Resilience is a virtue. Malfoy met Harry’s gaze from behind Urquhart and offered a sneer.

Just like that, the match had begun. Harry could feel the wind whipping his hair, stinging his eyes, biting at his nose and ears; seemingly unpleasant, but not to a quidditch player. Harry had been flying since he could toddle. Luna Lovegood was commentating despite McGonagall’s will, and he could hear her dreamy voice echoing across the field, seemingly more focused on the hazy weather than the score.

Harry had more important things to worry about. There was no point margin by which to win, so long as he got the snitch they were golden. While he circled the pitch, he kept his ears open for updates on the match.

“Ten zero to Slytherin, by no means an insurmountable lead… there goes Ginny Weasley. We’ve always been good friends, she gave me a bottle of nail polish last year, what a wonderful Christmas that was. I’m not sure what to get her _this_ year, but I’m sure she’ll be pleased nonetheless. Ginny isn’t very particular.”

There was a pause while Luna spoke with McGonagall, and then she said, “oh, Gryffindor has scored, yes.”

 _Excellent_ , thought harry, and he pelted down low to capture Malfoy’s attention. Malfoy was prone to marking his competitor rather than seeking for the snitch on his own. While this proved successful with other houses, Harry was far too stubborn to let him get off easy.

Malfoy, accustomed to these tricks but clearly not taking any chances, followed close behind with narrowed eyes. Harry picked up speed, braked just before the ground, and carried on back towards the clouds.

“Harry sure can fly,” Luna hummed. “Up, and up, and up, and there goes Malfoy.”

There was a sickening twinge in his stomach. Malfoy was speeding towards the Ravenclaws, stretched forward in concentration, and Harry immediately tailed him. The grass blurred before him, the clouds streaked above, and -- where was the snitch? According to the grin on Malfoy’s face, absolutely nowhere.

“Oh, nevermind, they’re just being friendly,” called Luna. Harry was sure he heard the crowd laugh. Instead of joining in, he scowled and launched towards the other side of the pitch, scrutinizing every last aspect of the field for a potential flash of gold. He was so focused that he forgot about the score entirely, only for his eyebrows to suddenly shoot up upon hearing Luna say, “Fifty to twenty in favor of Slytherin, although Katie Bell looks ready to turn it all around, what a chaser she is. Katie scored, no, _Demelza_ scored, she’s quite alright--”

 _Fifty to thirty, then,_ Harry thought, and then he spotted a flash of golden light way up high. Malfoy must have seen his expression, for he immediately twisted up and in front of him.

“Shove _off,_ Malfoy,” Harry spat, only to nearly be knocked off his broom. Both Harry and Malfoy were spindly (despite the latter’s height advantage) yet they were pressed shoulder-to-shoulder as they pressed on towards the snitch, elbows out to disarm their respective adversary.

“Ah,” is all Luna had to say. Harry could almost feel the snitch between the tips of his fingers --

With a sickening _crunch_ , a bludger was knocked directly into Draco’s chest, which would be fine and well if Harry didn’t go tumbling with him. Malfoy sucked in a breath of cold air and slid off his broom.

The snitch was ten feet away. As captain, Harry’s nerves were shrieking at him to grab the fucking thing, but as Harry Potter, he immediately belted towards Malfoy and grabbed him by the torso before he could hit the ground. The crowd was roaring something awful. Harry wheezed, doing his best not to drop Malfoy, who was pitching something of a fit. While he was prone to faking injury, Harry could tell he’d broken a number of ribs, and there was the very real possibility of puncturing a lung. He laid Malfoy down in the mud and pressed a cautious hand to his chest.

“ _Fuck._ ”

“Oh, I shouldn’t have prodded you, I suppose,” said Harry. He was feeling very awkward and hoped Madam Pomfrey would scramble toward them just a little faster.

“Where’s the--”

“Shut up.” Harry realized how rude that sounded. “I mean, you’re all busted up. Just relax. I didn’t get the snitch.”

“You didn’t?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Malfoy’s head fell back into the mud. Harry, looking very overwhelmed and uncomfortable, took haste in trotting towards the rest of his team as Madam Pomfrey clamored over Malfoy’s torso.

“Why didn’t you get the thing?” Ron asked, aghast. “It was right there, Malfoy’s rubbery enough, he’d have sprung right back up.”

Ginny didn’t look pleased, either, but she stepped beside Harry and took his hand. “Depending on the nature of that bludger, they might schedule a rematch, but I doubt it. Cup is as good as ours still. And besides,” she added, “Harry is far too good of a guy to bother Filch with scraping bits of Malfoy off the pitch.”

Harry laughed. It wasn’t necessarily hollow, but he had a weird sort of knot in his stomach that he’d rather sleep on. Ginny seemed to notice but smiled in understanding after a moment of eye contact.

“Oh, will you two stop that mindreading thing _,_ it’s rude,” said Ron.


	2. harry hops, hops, hops down the rabbit hole, and hermione is a real smart cookie

Even if Harry felt some semblance of guilt over the latest Malfoy kerfuffle, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to actually take a trip to the hospital wing and check on him. The determining factor was parental consideration; while his father would laugh at the idea of apologizing to anyone as stinking as Malfoy, his mother would suggest compromise for the sake of integrity. Harry figured it would be a waste of parchment to write when he knew exactly what they’d say anyway.

On Saturday, the very next morning, Hermione sat to his right and put together a plate of hash browns and sausage.

“Hungry?” Harry asked, digging into his own fried eggs with vigor.

“Very.” She poured out a goblet of juice. “Have you seen Ron?”

“Having a lie-in. Have you seen Ginny?”

“I haven’t. She’ll be around, I’m sure.” After carefully drizzling her sausages in syrup, Hermione sat up with an air of finality and began to cut everything into pieces, leaving Harry to his thoughts. It occurred to him that, given Ron’s absence, he should talk to Hermione about his plan.

“I’m going to visit Malfoy,” he said. “For the sake of being civil, is all.”

Hermione fixed him with the sort of stare only a girl could manage.

“...What?”

“Okay, Harry. Be careful now.”

“You think he’s going to attack me the day after he broke half his ribcage?”

“No, I just think you should be _careful_ ,” she said, and she gave another meaningful look.

“What does _that_ mean?”

“Boys.” Hermione turned to her Arithmancy textbook while Harry finished the last of his eggs. Feeling rather picked on, he got to his feet, indignant.

“I’ll be going, then.”

“Right. Ron and I are going to stroll the grounds, but we’ll meet you for lunch.” She looked up and added, “you’ve got some ketchup under your chin.”

“Oh.” Harry mopped up his face and offered a thumbs up. Now that he’d had breakfast, there was no excuse not to poke his head into the hospital wing (although there was the likelihood of Malfoy sneering him out before he could say “filibuster”).

Madam Pomfrey was speaking to Malfoy just as Harry walked in. Although Malfoy had milked an injury for all it was worth during their third year, he seemed quite anxious to escape the infirmary and repeatedly pushed her away from his personal space.

“Er,” said Harry, and then all eyes were on him.

“What do _you_ want?” Malfoy shifted away from Madam Pomfrey for the sixth time just to shoot daggers at Harry.

“Well, you almost died.”

“I did not.”

“I was there, actually.”

Malfoy took a long, deep breath. Madam Pomfrey noted this and moved on to lift his shirt and check for bruises, but he stuck his elbow in her face.

“Now, really!” She held at her nose and backed away, wand out. “Can I do my _job,_ please? Mister Potter, if you do not leave the infirmary _immediately --_ ”

“Right,” he said quickly, and skittered out of the wing before Madam Pomfrey could get any angrier. She’d never had her nose mashed by a student as far as he knew. Once she and Malfoy were twenty feet behind him, Harry sunk into a sitting position under a painting of a chicken coop, half-listening to the contented clucking and half-listening for another shouting fit.

Ten minutes later, Malfoy came skulking down the hall with a scowl on his face. He did not look pleased to have Harry in his general vicinity.

“Hi.” Harry got to his feet. “I didn’t explain myself very well back there, but I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t kicked the bucket, I guess.”

Malfoy fixed him with a glare. Harry felt like everyone was gawking at him. After a second, Malfoy asked, “Will there be a rematch?”

“I think so. You might want to talk to Madam Hooch about rescheduling, she wasn’t sure if you’d be up to playing by the end of the week.”

“As if everyone’s forgotten we’re wizards. You’d think they’d have caught wind of mending spells by now.”

Harry kind of cracked a grin. This was the most amicable they’d ever been in conversation, and he could hardly believe it until Malfoy’s face twisted up.

“Now, keep your nose out of my fucking business, will you?” He smoothed his hair back and shouldered past Harry, who was very confused. Why didn’t Malfoy like him at this point in their Hogwarts careers? There was the obvious, but they were in their sixth year and he’d just told Harry a joke. A _joke --_ not even one at Harry's expense.

Rubbing at his shoulder, he decided to write home.

* * *

 

When Hermione Granger spotted Draco blushing into his oatmeal five minutes later, it was very difficult not to track Harry down and shake him by the shoulders.

* * *

 _Dear dad,_ began Harry, but he waved his wand over the parchment to mop up the ink a moment later. He couldn’t count on his father for advice concerning Slytherins. Great as James was, he was the quintessence of Gryffindor, and his answer would be two rolls of slander against silver and green; Sirius was just the same.

 _Dear mum…_ No. This was, strangely enough, a guy thing. It made his palms sweat to think about bringing this problem to his mother. After some time, he made his decision, although it was rather redundant considering he had Defense Against the Dark Arts the next morning.

_Remus,_

_I hope you’re alright. I’m pretty sure you are, considering I see you six days out of seven, but the sentiment is there. Last week’s lesson was fantastic. I know non-verbal spells are tomorrow but I know I can’t do them, so you should cover for me if I skive._

_I’m writing for sort of a personal reason (that I can’t take up with mum or dad). I apologized to Malfoy about the quidditch game, and we even sort of got along over it, but he then he got angry at me and left. I didn’t say anything wrong, even. He hasn’t went on a muggle-born tirade since fourth year, so I don’t know why he hates me so much._

_We aren’t going to get engaged or anything. I know this is a stupid thing to write about, but it’s really starting to bother me, so any advice would be great._

_-Harry_

Harry peered down at his writing and squinted. Not too embarrassing, and even if it was, Remus was polite enough not to laugh in his face about it. Cheered, Harry folded up the parchment and turned his head towards the ceiling of the Owlery in search of Hedwig, who promptly swooped across the room and perched on his shoulder.

“There you are,” he said. “Deliver this to Remus, would you? Anywhere you can manage to catch him.” With a friendly blink, she allowed him to tie the letter to her leg and took off.

 _There,_ thought Harry. _Out of sight, out of mind._

* * *

Harry hadn’t gotten a response before Defense the next morning, but Professor Lupin’s expression suggests he’d received the memo. As predicted, Harry is kept after class.

“Hello, Harry,” said Remus. He seemed off-color. Harry was not surprised, as the full moon was just around the bend.

“Hi.”

“I did, as you may have guessed, read your letter. Tea?”

“Yes, please,” said Harry, and he settled down at his desk while Remus conjured a jet of steaming water into a mug. He already knew how Harry liked his tea.

“Now, then. I wasn’t under the impression that you particularly cared about Draco Malfoy’s opinion?” Remus stirred tea leaves into Harry’s mug.

“Me either,” said Harry tiredly. “It was just weird, is all. He told a joke, and I had a laugh, and then he just about lost his mind.”

Remus hummed. “Why do you think Malfoy’s always picked on you, Harry?”

Slowly, Harry said, "I turned him down our first year. And, er, then I paired up with a blood traitor and a muggleborn.”

“That’s the likely conclusion, but it isn’t the entire picture.” Remus sounded like he was really thinking what he had to say. “People aren’t quite so two-dimensional, I’m afraid. Why do you think Malfoy wanted to be friends in your first year?”

“I don’t know,” replied Harry, beginning to feel frustrated.

“Because you’re a good friend, Harry. He obviously thought highly of you if he went out of his way to be on good terms with you. I’m not saying that excuses anything, of course, but considering you’ve both grown up a great deal, maybe Malfoy is feeling conflicted.” Remus paused. “Maybe he’s seeing you as more of the person you are than the person he thought you were.”

Harry shifted in his seat. He wasn’t keeping up, and considering Remus was obviously hinting at something, he couldn’t help how he scrunched up his nose. “What?”

“I think I’ll leave it at that.”

“What, no, c’mon!” said Harry. “You don’t even have to buy me a Christmas present if you just tell me. I’ll clean the blackboard and everything.”

As if temporarily deaf, Remus turned to peruse his gradebook, and Harry was left more confused than before.


	3. the holiday season, the woes of capitalism, and malfoy's underground potter support group

Fantastic as Hogwarts proved to be during the holidays, Harry was spending his sixth year in Godric’s Hollow with his parents. Ron invited him to visit the burrow during the second half of winter break; Hermione would be with her muggle parents but promised to send their presents by owl as always. 

The three of them all clumped together in one train compartment, staring sleepily out of the windows with candy wrappers at their feet. Four hours of gossip and Gobstones later, the Hogwarts Express came to a halt, and everyone began to unboard in good spirits. 

Harry’s mum and dad were waiting at the platform. He turned to Ron and Hermione and said, “well, ‘bye.”

“See you on Christmas, mate,” said Ron.

“Bye, Harry, bye, Ron!” Hermione waved the pair of them off and strode toward her parents.  Ginny, who was at Harry’s left, stood on her tippy-toes and wiggled her brows. Harry leaned in and kissed her for about five seconds too long while Ron wrinkled his nose.

Unfortunately, Malfoy got off the train just behind them. His mouth twitched, fell flat, and finally broke into the customary sneer. “Great Merlin, somebody phone the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. We’ve got Potty with his dick tip in a weasel.”

“Oh, no,” said Ginny, beginning to apply chapstick. “And as if things weren’t bad enough, there’s a ferret running around unsupervised.”

“Potter, leash your dog, will you?” 

All thoughts of maintaining good terms were forgotten as Harry straightened up and said, “speaking of dogs, your mother’s just over there, so you’d best be off.”

Malfoy turned a shade of scarlet unbeknownst to modern wizard. “Keep my mother’s name out of your mouth, Potter.”

Lily practically sprinted to their side upon seeing the conflict. “Merry Christmas, Harry, Ginny, Ron, anonymous young man. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” said Harry.

“Yeah, nothing,” Ginny agreed, and she patted Harry’s ass politely. He went about as red as Malfoy.

Fashionably late, Remus trotted towards them while Sirius trailed behind, lopsided grin ever-present. Malfoy stepped backwards, glanced at the insurmountable number of Potter-friendly adults present, and shouldered past Ginny with a scowl. Ginny kissed Harry one last time under the ear and took her leave with a “Merry Christmas” directed toward Mr. and Mrs. Potter.

“Ah,” said Harry. He was dazed; too many kisses.

Lily tapped her chin in consideration. “Well, we’re off, I suppose.”

* * *

Harry woke up to the sound of tapping against his window. He sat up, blinked hard a few times, and fumbled for his glasses. A barn owl peered at him from outside. Given that presents usually found their way under the Christmas tree without interference, Harry’s confusion was warranted, and he eagerly slid the window open to see what the fuss was about.

The owl traipsed into the room and ruffled snow from its feathers. There was a package attached to its leg, although small; Harry carefully untied and tore it open. Curiosity piqued, he unfolded the note stuck onto the lid:

_ Merry Christmas, assuming this makes it to your ~~shed~~ ~~bungalow~~ ~~house~~ living quarters in a timely fashion. Cheers. _

Frankly, Harry thought he lived in a very nice place, but he didn’t bother drafting a response considering there was no return address. This package was too tempting to ignore any further -- he popped off the lid and gawked at what was inside. A golden wristwatch with a leather strap and far too many clock hands, although that was customary to wizards. Instead of numbers, the face displayed numerous planets, some he knew and some he did not. While the watch was rather handsome (and most definitely expensive), he was confused as to why it was considered a proper Christmas gift. Watches were usually given when a wizard came of age and Harry's birthday was in July.

He strapped on the thing, admired it for a moment, and opened Hedwig’s cage for the delivery owl to rest. Hedwig seemed mildly affronted. Nonetheless, Harry said a quiet “Merry Christmas” to the pair of them and made his way downstairs.

“Merry Christmas, Harry!” Lily pulled him into a hug, kissed his forehead, and pointed her wand towards the stove; the stove suddenly lit up underneath a pan of bacon. 

“Morning, mum.”

“Your father’s just clearing the walk, he’ll be back to open presents in a mo’. Sirius and Remus are -- what’s that?” She pointed to his wrist. Meanwhile, the bacon began to sizzle.

“Wristwatch,” replied Harry promptly. “I’m not sure who bought it, anonymous sender.”

She frowned. “You should be more careful, Harry, cursed objects have been on the rise. Just ask your father.”

“Oh, come on, who’d be out to kill me besides half of Slytherin house? Not enough brains in that bunch to hex a dead body, anyway.”

“Promise to tell me if you start feeling itchy, rashy, achey, tingly…” Lily stopped herself. “You know the drill.”

“Will do.” Harry gave a mock salute just as his father walked in the door. James had snowflakes stuck to his eyelashes and was wearing nothing but a knit hat and flannel pajama pants.

“Dashing as ever,” said Lily. A flick of her wand and the bacon began to flip itself. 

“ _ More _ than ever, in my opinion,” James grinned at Harry and took him aside by the shoulders. “Merry Wednesday, son o’ mine. Nice watch. Hermione?”

“No, I don’t know who sent it,” said Harry. “Kind of weird in retrospect. I’m not even seventeen yet.”

“Good-looking men like us get secret admirers all the time, yeah? Just keep the thing polished and tell Ginny you found it in the trash.”

Harry laughed and sunk into a sitting position beside their Christmas tree, reaching for the various presents underneath. Ron had sent a great box of Every Flavor beans. Hermione, fortunately veering away from the usual academia, sent a matching scarf and hat she’d knit herself. Harry fixed the hat on his head before tearing through his other gifts: Wizard Wheezes from Fred and George, a handknit sweater and peanut butter fudge from Mrs. Weasley, new quidditch gloves and a box of Chocolate Cauldrons from Ginny, a handsome new jacket and an old rock album from Sirius, an updated copy of Bogg’s Magical Creature Classification and Identification Encyclopedia from Remus, new dress robes and a muggle record player from his mother, and lastly, a brand new quidditch set from his father (snitch, quaffle, and bludgers included).

Harry could not have been more pleased with his presents. He thanked his parents (although they were too busy with their own gifts to really respond). 

“Oh, I completely forgot I wanted this!” Lily held up a stout and bronze bottle of perfume. “Smells just like victory -- here, try it.”

James took a cautious sniff. “Oh,  _ that’s  _ what that smells like.”

Some point after everyone ate their fair share of bacon sandwiches, Sirius and Remus appeared in their living room. Harry was quite accustomed to apparation and didn’t even jump.

Shaking Lily’s hand like he was the governor, Sirius said, “Nothing like a white Christmas, yessir.”

Remus smiled. He was wearing a new set of robes courtesy of James. “A very merry Christmas indeed. Do you mind if I pour myself a mug of coffee, Lily?”

“No problem.” She flicked her wand towards the kitchen almost lazily, fetching a mug within two seconds. Remus sat down and streamed coffee directly into the mug.

“Why’s liquid an exception to that… that, er, rule?” asked Harry.

Remus knit his brows together. “Gamp’s Law?”

“I think so.” 

“Liquid isn’t necessarily an exception.  _ Aguamenti  _ conjures water directly from our atmosphere, the spell purifies it as it streams from the wand.” Remus took a slow sip of coffee and made a face. “Needs sugar. Anyway, this coffee is coming directly from my house, there’s a pot I left on the counter. Getting sort of lukewarm, if I’m being perfectly honest.”

Sirius made a loud snoring noise, and James laughed.

* * *

“I don’t understand this game,” complained Ron, although Harry silently agreed.

“No, look.” Hermione straightened out the board with her finger. “Monopoly isn’t that hard. Roll the dice, Harry.”

“Okay, let me just… I got six.”

“You’ve landed on the railroad,” said Hermione, while Ron poked the cartoons in an attempt to make them move.

“Er…”

“You know what? Nevermind. I would’ve brought Operation, but the buzzer wouldn’t work inside Hogwarts.” Hermione shut the board.

“Oh, my mum had me play that once, it was fun,” said Harry politely. Ron merely appeared disgruntled.

“I only wanted you to play Monopoly because it’s relevant to our studies.” Hermione packed all of the game pieces into a plastic bag. “Henry George, Laissez Faire capitalism?”

“Oh,” said Harry. “Wait, what?”

She took a deep breath. “We'll talk about it later. Have you figured out who sent that watch yet?”

“Well, no, but I doubt it’s a big deal. I haven’t grown tentacles or anything.” Harry eyed his watch for a moment. It was a very nice watch, that much was certain, and Harry couldn’t help his fondness of the thing. 

“What did Ginny say about it?”

“She said it was nice. Why?”

“How’d she say it was nice?”

“Er, what?”

“I mean, was it like, ‘oh, nice watch!’ Or, ‘it’s okay.’ Something like that.”

“I don’t remember.”

Hermione looked at him with pity. Ron, however, was about as confused as Harry, which was very reassuring to the both of them.

“What does that matter, anyway?” Harry asked defensively. “It’s not an ugly watch.”

“Well, how do you know a  _ girl  _ didn’t send it?”

“I guess I don’t.”

Ron interrupted, “look, Ginny isn’t the type to lose her marbles over whether a girl likes Harry or not.  _ Every  _ girl likes Harry.”

“That’s not true,” said Harry.

“Tell that to Romilda Vane, Parvati Patil, Josie Vandine, that burly seventh year in our fourth --”

“Parvati never  _ liked  _ me, we just both needed dates to the Yule Ball. I didn’t even dance with her. She didn’t talk to me for a month after that…”

“Dance with who?” Ginny poked her head over the couch, effectively petrifying Harry.

“Hagrid,” stammered Ron. Hermione giggled into the collar of her shirt.

“My secret admirers,” said Harry honestly, and Ginny just laughed.

“God forbid, those swathes of females you’ve got to beat back with sticks on the daily. Should we invest in a chastity belt?”

Harry was overcome with relief. He leaned across the couch to kiss her, and Ron made a sound like a cat getting its tail pulled.

* * *

Herbology was a blur of bad choices. Ginny was generally a good student, but her inability to keep anything alive was very apparent in a class dedicated to the art, and it was only on Professor Sprout’s pity points that she managed an “acceptable” grade average. Picking soil out from under her fingernails, Ginny made her way into the castle and towards the Gryffindor common room, glad to be out of the sun and in the shade.

Just as she passed the Great Hall, she found herself interrupted by a shock of platinum blond hair and pale eyes.

“Malfoy,” she said, voice relatively pleasant despite how she reached for her wand.

“Oh, lighten up, Weasley.” Crabbe and Goyle stood at his sides, but he didn’t seem happy to have them around; he gave them both dirty looks and gestured off into the distance. Reluctantly, the pair of them trudged away.

“What is this, some sort of peace offering? Don’t think I won’t hex you.”

“First and foremost, if you even think of hexing me, I will stuff you into a drawer.” He lowered his voice to a quiet whisper. “I need your help.”

Ginny raised her eyebrows. “Help?”

“Will you  _ keep it down _ ?”

“We’re the only ones here, mate.”

Malfoy appeared vaguely frazzled. “Listen, it's about Potter."

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @hal900 for questions and. such?


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